In January of 2012, I started writing about this couple and I haven't stopped. No other "ship" has captured my imagination the way Tom and Sybil have, and so when someone utters the words "OTP"-one true pairing...no truer words could be said for how I feel about them.

It's so strange; when I started writing Love's Journey, I never imagined it would get to this point, and then I finished that fic, and started working on this one, and then I discovered that 2014 was the same calendar to 1919, and I really, REALLY wanted to match up the wedding chapter with the actual June 7, and so I worked and updated constantly (as you know) to do that...and wow. I actually did it! Today, I give you...the wedding chapter. On Saturday June 7, 2014...95 years later.

QUICK special thanks to ScarletCourt; I would have been lost without the help of her amazing story "The Journey to Happiness" which I *heartily* recommend, which helped me in writing the marriage vows. Now I'm a 21st century American Protestant, so I do apologize if the wedding doesn't sound "Catholic" enough, or of an older era (I tried as best I could) so I do hope you will forgive me for those mistakes.

Alright, enough rambling. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who has been following and reading! I hope you like it...I dedicate it to all of you. Happy Anniversary Tom & Sybil!


Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Saturday morning of June 7, 1919, was overcast, and there was a somewhat distinct smell of spring rain in the air. Though he could have sworn he had shut the window that overlooked his narrow bed, in the haze of sleep Tom felt some cold drops fall onto his cheek. Without bothering to open his eyes, his hand rose to wipe the droplets away from his face…

Only to come up gasping as a bucket of cold water was dumped over his head.

"JESUS CHRIST!" he swore, his eyes wild and his body tense, his head whipping around, trying to see where his attackers were coming from…

And was greeted by several wild whoops of laughter.

"You should see your face!" Kieran managed to gasp between bouts of laughter. He reached out to grip the arm of his accomplice, whom Tom could now see was none other than his brother, who was grinning back at him, looking only slightly apologetic for the prank they had played.

The rest of the laughing audience were several other cousins who had accompanied him the previous evening on his stag night, and who, he was guessing, based on their disheveled appearance, had spent the night downstairs in the pub rather than returning to their homes.

"Oh yeah, that's downright HYSTERICAL," Tom snarled, rising from the bed, wincing more so this morning at the throb between his temples and behind his eyes, rather than the bad bed coils digging into his back. His snarl was met with more laughter.

"I'm sorry Tommy, I tried to stop them!" he heard his sister call out. There, standing by the door was Kathleen, a crying infant in her arms that she was trying to rock, while her husband stood with the open bedroom door at his back, looking rather guilty, but more so because his wife was giving him several filthy looks.

"Don't remember doing this to you on the morning of your wedding," Tom muttered to his brother-in-law, while still trying to shake the water off his sodden undershirt.

"That's because he's an O'Hara instead of a Branson," Kieran chuckled, before throwing an arm around Sean's shoulders. "They don't know how to properly celebrate."

Sean rolled his eyes and pushed Kieran away, but as far as getting into Kathleen's good graces, it was too late. "Your son needs changing," she muttered, pushing the crying Declan into his father's arms, before turning to face the others in the room. "Right, how are you feeling? Do you want some breakfast?"

Kieran's eyes lit up. "Oh some eggs and sausage would hit the spot—"

"Not you!" she hissed, shoving at Kieran's shoulder. "Tommy, how are you feeling?" she repeated, looking at him with a deep frown, as if assessing him for injury.

"I'm fine," he muttered, grabbing the shirt he had worn the previous night and that was slung over a chair, and using it to dry off his face. "I think I just need some coffee…"

"Strong black coffee from the looks of it," Kathleen muttered, glancing at the rest of their cousins, two of whom were still drinking, as a way to stay ahead of their impending hangovers. She muttered something else as she left the room, Tom didn't quite hear. He wanted to call out to her and ask how Sybil was, knowing Kathleen had seen her last night, but Kieran stepped in front of him, grinning mischievously and not at all looking sorry for what he had done.

"We did the same to Eamon when he got married; it's a tradition, Tommy, don't let it get to you."

Tom rolled his eyes and pulled his soaked undershirt off. "I'll remember that when YOU get married," he muttered.

Kieran laughed. "It'll never happen."

"No woman will have him," Frank added, which earned a chuckle from his brother and swipe from his cousin.

Tom looked at his brother, noticing that he had the same disheveled appearance as his cousins. "Did you spend the night here too?"

Frank nodded, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck, making a face as he did so. "Aye and I don't recommend it."

"Don't know what you're grumbling about," Kieran muttered. "You slept on Sean and Kathleen's couch, whereas the rest of us were downstairs in the pub!" He chuckled and pointed at Eamon (who frankly looked the worse out of all of them) and mentioned that he had laid himself out right on the bar, as if it were his own wake.

"I hope you left something for after the wedding," Tom mumbled, his eyes falling to one of the bottles a cousin carried.

Kieran chuckled. "Don't worry, they left plenty—your wedding is going to be one of the grandest, merriest occasions this city has seen in years!"

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "Are you still drunk?"

Kieran and the rest laughed. "Come on, got to make you look 'presentable'," he teased. "You're marrying a posh earl's daughter, after all!"

Tom shoved at his cousin, but it was done out of good humor.

And then suddenly it struck him, even though he had been saying words like "wedding" and "marriage" already.

TODAY is my wedding day. Not a month from now, not a fortnight, not even tomorrow, but…today.

The realization was rather overwhelming. Tom nearly stumbled and had to reach out to grip the chair to keep from falling.

"Easy!" Kieran chuckled, stepping in to steady him. "Maybe coffee isn't going to be enough? Perhaps a bit of the 'hair of the dog that bit ya'?"

But Tom shook his head, and then looked at his brother and cousins and murmured in amazement, "I'm getting married…"

They all smiled, even Frank. "Aye, that you are," Kieran chuckled, squeezing Tom's shoulder, before leaning in and murmuring, rather cheekily, "And I promise you, when you wake up tomorrow, it will be every bit as shocking as this morning…but much, much pleasanter, I have no doubt."


Unlike Tom, Sybil wasn't rudely woken by having a bucket of cold water dumped on top of her, but by a hurried knock from Siobhan, who was grinning from ear to ear, and had come to tell her that her sisters and Anna had just arrived. Sybil sat up in surprise, and looked over at the clock on her nightstand.

"It's half-past ten!?" she gasped. She couldn't believe how late she had slept! She couldn't believe that she had managed to sleep!

"Mam thought you could use the extra bit of rest," Siobhan explained, and then stepped out of the way as Aileen appeared just behind her in the door, carrying a small tray that contained a simple offering of toast, jam, and coffee.

It's the morning of my wedding, and like a married woman I'm being offered breakfast in bed.

The morning of her wedding…

HER WEDDING!

Sybil looked at both Branson girls with wide eyes. "I'm getting married today…" she whispered, as if telling them something they were unaware of.

Aileen and Siobhan glanced at each other, and then burst into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, something funny?" a voice came from behind them, and the two giggling Branson girls looked behind them at the entrance of Sybil's sisters, who were standing in the corridor, just outside the bedroom.

Siobhan couldn't stop giggling. "Sybil has just realized that she's marrying Tommy," she explained.

"Only just now?" Mary asked, lifting an elegant eyebrow and looking at Sybil in a manner that she might even label as "cheeky".

Mrs. Branson appeared then, coming up behind Edith and Anna, who were bringing up the rear of the small caravan that were trying to see the newly awoken bride. "Aileen, did you give her the tray?"

"Aye, Mam," Aileen answered, in a tone that seemed to be quite common amongst adolescents.

"Sybil, do you need anything else? I thought it best to keep it light—just some toast—"

"This is fine, thank you!" Sybil answered; she couldn't really see Mrs. Branson (just the top of her head). "I honestly don't know if I would be able to handle anything heavier," she confessed, glancing at the tray that had been placed at the foot of her bed.

"That's what I thought," Margaret sighed. "Alright; Siobhan! Aileen! Leave Sybil and her sisters some peace! We have a lot to do and only so many hours to do it all!" And with a mumbled, "yes Mam", the Branson girls left the room, but not without turning and grinning one last time at Sybil, the echoes of their giggles floating behind them.

The room wasn't that big, so even with just her sisters and Anna, it was a snug fit. "Alright, you heard her," Mary ordered, her voice firm and strict. "Eat your toast; it wouldn't do to have the bride fainting from hunger in the middle of the ceremony."

"Oh dear," Edith giggled, clearly imagining the scenario. "Poor Branson would probably faint himself!"

Sybil rolled her eyes, but to satisfy her sisters, took a bite of toast, before turning and smiling at Anna who was already setting things up on the desk that would serve as her "workstation". "Good morning, Anna! I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you, milady," Anna smiled in return. "Though I think the bigger question is, did you sleep well?"

"Better than I thought I would, I must confess," Sybil answered, pausing to take a sip of coffee. She was still amazed that she had slept as late as she had. She couldn't even remember when sleep had finally claimed her last night!

"Is this the only mirror?" she heard Mary ask, and looked over to see that her sister was standing and frowning at the tiny mirror that hung on the opposite wall. "You can barely see your entire face in it!"

"We'll manage, milady," Anna reassured, though Sybil noticed that her friend was frowning slightly as well. Yes, this was all very different from her room back at Downton, with her larger mirror and dressing table.

"Finish your breakfast," Mary instructed, noticing Sybil had paused.

Sybil groaned and rolled her eyes, though more for humor's sake than anything else.

"Do you have all four things?" Edith asked, making room for herself at the foot of Sybil's bed.

Sybil frowned. "Four things?"

"Of course!" Edith grinned. "You know…'something old, something new…'?"

"Oh that," Sybil giggled, taking another bite of toast. "Well…I think my dress is a bit of both now; my old tea gown, but made over and altered so it looks like an entirely new dress…and I suppose the same could go for my veil; it's new to me, but was once Kathleen's…does that mean it's my 'something borrowed' as well?"

"Only if you give it back," Mary stated. "Besides, Edith and I have something for you in that area…"

Mary produced small box, and Sybil saw that it contained a delicate set of tear-drop pearl earrings, as well as a simple solitaire diamond pendant. "The necklace is mine, the earrings are Edith's," Mary explained.

"And we do want them back," Edith teased.

Sybil giggled and took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry, though she knew it would a near impossible task today.

"And your 'something blue'?" Edith asked, looking both eager and curious for Sybil's answer.

"Oh that's easy!" Sybil giggled, turning and reaching over to the nightstand, and revealing a small, cloth bag, that sat next to the clock. She opened the bag, and produced the ivory scarf Tom had bought for her all those months ago, when they were in London together. "You can see the blue thread in the edges, and there are tiny blue flowers in the corners…" she grinned as she remembered the moment well, the shopkeeper's wife convincing Tom that the blue brought out the "sparkle" in her eyes. "I thought I would tie it around my bouquet," she explained.

"Do you have a bouquet?" Mary asked.

"Moira told me last night that she's going to gather some flowers for me," Sybil answered, smiling at the thought. Her "little sisters" were very excited about today (though she doubted anyone was excited as her!)

"Well, you seem to be ready then!" Edith exclaimed with a smile.

"Not quite," Mary added, taking in Sybil's somewhat disheveled appearance. "But you will be, once you put yourself in Anna's capable hands."

Sybil finished off her toast and coffee, and then did just as Mary said, getting herself washed, cleaned-up, and then sitting down at the makeshift "dressing table", while Anna took a comb and got down to the business of brushing out her wild, unruly hair, while Mary and Edith sat on the bed, providing Sybil with suggestions on what she could do with her hair for the special day.

In the end, Sybil chose to keep it simple, asking Anna to style it similarly to how she had done that day, all those years ago, when she wore her "harem pants" to dinner. Anna laughed and remembered the style quite well, and began to run the brush through Sybil's curls, making them appear thick and glossy and smooth, before pulling her hair back in the suggested style.

"Oh my!" Edith gasped, and Sybil looked out of the corner of her eye to see what had gotten her sister's attention.

"What? What is it?"

"This!" Edith explained, and Sybil saw her sister pick up the delicate, white corset that she had purchased several months ago (after seeing it in that shop in London), and that Tom had "held captive", during the weeks they waited to tell her family. "This is lovely! Wherever did you get it?"

Sybil blushed and Mary instantly noticed. "Why do I have the feeling that your answer is somewhat 'nefarious'?"

"How so?" she asked, playing innocent. "I saw it in London, and ordered it to come to Ripon—"

"When did you see it in London?" Mary asked, lifting one of her eyebrows pointedly.

Sybil fought the giggle that was threatening to erupt. "I'll not insult your intelligence by answering that," she said, to which her sister groaned, thus freeing the trapped giggle from Sybil's throat.

"I'm surprised Sybil," Edith giggled, as their laughter began to die down. "For all your talk about corsets…"

"I know," Sybil sighed. "But…well, I thought it would be wise to wear beneath my gown—"

"Where is your gown?" Mary asked.

"Tom's mother has it; she noticed a loose thread on it last night, and wanted to 'stitch it up'."

The mention of Mrs. Branson brought some blushes back to the cheeks of her sisters. "I hope that we didn't horribly embarrass her with the gift we gave you," Edith murmured, biting her lower lip.

"Oh, you hope you didn't horribly embarrass her?" Sybil pointedly asked, however she couldn't help but smile. "I think she's choosing not to acknowledge it, which is probably for the best." She still couldn't believe that her sisters had gotten that for her! Her sisters! Though she was thankful, and did think it very beautiful. Oh my, what will Tom think? I mean, it is meant to be worn on our wedding night…

"Sybil…"

She was brought out of her thoughts (though her cheeks were still glowing) as she glanced at Mary, who had risen from the bed and was coming to stand close to her side.

"I think, as your eldest sister, I should take it upon myself to ask if you have any…'questions'?"

Sybil's eyes widened as she realized just what her sister was insinuating. "…And are you going to answer them if I do?"

Now it was Mary's eyes that widened and her face that flushed brightly. "Of course not!" she gasped…and then glanced to her left. "Anna is the married woman here, she'll answer them."

There was a brief pause…and then the entire room erupted into laughter once again, including Anna, who was blushing very brightly. "I'll do my best, milady," Anna reassured, when she managed to get a hold of herself.

"Thank you, Anna," Sybil giggled. "And thank you, Mary, for your kind consideration to my…'delicate sensibilities'. But remember! I am a nurse; I do know a little about the male anatomy, I have seen a naked man—"

"Oh Sybil, really," Mary groaned.

Sybil grinned at her sister's reaction. "Well I have! More than one, actually. I've even helped with bathing—"

"Alright, you've made your point!" Mary groaned again, throwing her hands up in defeat.

Sybil couldn't help but smile with triumph. However, she quickly swallowed and attempted to look serious, before saying, "But no, I don't have any questions at this time."

She noticed, much to her surprise then, that Mary was grinning, and it looked downright mischievous. "Well, I suppose if any come up, you could always ask Mrs. Branson…"

And just like that, the room once again erupted into laughter. Oh yes, that would be a fine thing, wouldn't it? Sybil thought. Asking her very-soon-to-be mother-in-law, questions on the subject of "physical intimacy" in regards to her son? "I honestly don't know what would shock her more; that, or the negligee you gave me?"

They continued to laugh, and after their giggles began to fade once again, Sybil heard Edith ask something she had been asking herself as this day drew nearer. "Are you nervous?"

She decided to play coy. "About the wedding?"

"Don't fib Sybil, you were never very good at it," Mary muttered.

Her sister was right, of course. And naturally they could see through her. She looked back at her reflection, and thought about Tom…thought about the way he held her, the way he kissed her, the way his body molded against hers, the way his muscles felt beneath her fingers, the way he touched her…oh Lord yes, the way he touched her…

"No…" she murmured finally, a gentle smile spreading across her face, and growing more and more confident by the second.

Edith looked a little doubtful. "Not even a little bit?"

"Edith…" Mary warned.

"It's alright," Sybil assured, her eyes finding Edith's in the mirror. "And…well, maybe a little, but…but not as you might be thinking," she tried to explain. "In all truth…" she bit her lip and grinned back at her sisters. "…I'm actually rather excited!"

She couldn't help but laugh at their reactions; Mary rolling her eyes while Edith blushed and looked away in slight embarrassment. She caught Anna's eyes in the mirror, who seemed to be trying her hardest not to laugh too much, but one glance into the head housemaid's eyes, and Sybil could tell that Anna not only understood her feeling of excitement, but that she heartily agreed with it!

The conversation began change as Anna added the final touches to Sybil's hair. It was not lost on Sybil that despite everything they had talked about thus far, there was one subject they were avoiding altogether. After all, as sweet as it was for Mary to step forward and ask her if she had any "questions", such an offer should have come from their mother, instead. And even though Sybil would have answered in the same manner as she had done for Mary, she still would have loved it if her mother were there.

She hadn't told them that she would be making her journey down the aisle entirely by herself. Well, they will find out soon enough…

Her mind did wander briefly to everyone back at Downton. What were her parents doing today? Did they miss her? Were they regretting their decision? Were they imagining her, getting ready as she was doing? Was her mother worried that she would have questions? Was her father wondering who would be walking her down the aisle in his place? Was Granny imagining her in the Crawley tiara? Or had they all forgotten? Was it "just another Saturday" to them?

She thought of the staff, especially those who had been so thoughtful and kind to write her a letter. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy had written her one each, and both of them had included several recipes that they remembered Tom being partial to, when he was working there. Were they thinking about her today? Thinking about the sort of food that would be served at her wedding breakfast, especially the cake? There had also been a letter from Mrs. Hughes, with a few sentences from Carson, written at the bottom. Her letter was short, but very touching—she basically said that she imagined she would make a lovely bride, and offered every joy and prayer of happiness for her and Tom. And finally, Sybil couldn't help but grin…there was a letter from Thomas, who like Mary, was telling Sybil not to let Tom "bully her into doing anything she didn't want to", otherwise he would get on the next boat bound to Dublin to "sort Branson out himself".

Sybil cherished her letters, and would treasure them just as much as those other beautiful gifts she had been given last night. But at the same time, she had wished that somewhere in that pile of letters, she would find one from her parents, a message telling her they missed her and they loved her…

Yes, despite her own stubbornness, Sybil would very much welcome such a letter on this day.

A knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts, and she welcomed the distraction from her growing melancholy. "Come in!"

It was Kathleen. "Oh!" she gasped, seeing Sybil's dark hair brought to a lovely, glossy shine. "You look beautiful!"

Sybil blushed, but smiled back at the woman who very shortly would be her sister. "Thank you, but really, I owe it all to Anna—without her, my hair would probably be a haphazard bun, and threatening to fall out and tumble down my back; imagine the scandal!"

Kathleen giggled and then stepped forward, revealing the veil she had given Sybil last night. Sybil did her best to keep her emotions at bay, as Anna took the lovely, delicate veil, and tucked it just so into Sybil's hair, adding a few more pins to help keep it in place.

Another knock indicated none other than Mrs. Branson, who Sybil could tell, even before the woman had the chance to enter, that she was holding Sybil's dress. "Alright…I think it's time, my dear."

At that point, because the room really was only so big, Mary and Edith excused themselves, along with Kathleen, leaving Sybil alone with Anna and Mrs. Branson. Anna took the new, fancy corset Edith had been admiring earlier, and helped Sybil into it, taking it's silken white ribbons and pulling it tight (but not too tight). When she was finished, she offered to help Mrs. Branson with the dress, but Tom's mother kindly refused, and then gently urged Anna to go downstairs where the others had gone, thus giving both she and Sybil a chance to be alone.

"While you were getting ready, two of Tommy's uncles came just now, and took all your presents from last night over to the flat. They'll be there when go there tonight," she explained, as she helped Sybil into the gown.

Tonight…

So did that include the lingerie her sisters had gotten her?

"The box your sisters gave you is still downstairs," Margaret answered, as if reading her mind. "It will go with your trunks that are still here; Sean and Kathleen said they would take those over themselves, plus the quilt—they'll also make the bed up."

Sybil felt her cheeks darken. Despite her embarrassment from last night, Mrs. Branson didn't seem to be batting an eye at she spoke so freely about Tom and Sybil's marriage bed. But then the woman was rather focused on smoothing out Sybil's dress as it was fitted at last to her body.

The newly shortened, lacy hem, brushed against the tops of her ankles. Sybil looked down, a shaky breath coming out of her lungs as she gazed at the once familiar looking gown that now looked so new, taking in the placement of the new waist—how the fabric clung to her hips, but at the same time allowed her to move more freely—and she did rather love the shortened sleeves. Her fingers moved over the dress, feeling the new lace that covered the old silk, but still, despite its new layers, she could still see (if you peered close enough) the familiar lilac and cream designs of her tea gown, a reminder of the past, under a veil of her present and future.

…How poetic? How appropriate? She and her wedding gown had a great deal in common; she was still Lady Sybil, she would always be Lady Sybil, according to English law…but today, she would also be becoming Mrs. Sybil Branson—a new life and a new name…on top of the woman she had always been.

"Alright, turn for me," she heard his mother ask her, and Sybil nodded her head, doing a little turn as requested…slowly…holding her arms out and biting her bottom lip, a part of her worried that if she moved too quickly, all of Margaret Branson's hard work would come tumbling off. But thankfully, that didn't happen (Tom's mother was an extremely skilled seamstress), and when she had finished her turn, she stopped in front of his mother, and looked up, opening her mouth to ask if everything was alright…but staring as she saw tears in the woman's eyes.

"Oh…forgive me," she gasped, when she realized Sybil was looking at her. She quickly turned her head and removed a handkerchief, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. "You look very beautiful, my dear, very…very beautiful," she repeated, trying her hardest to get a hold of herself.

Sybil felt the sting of tears in her own eyes, and despite her own attempts at trying to keep her emotions from getting away from her, she knew that would be a next to impossible task as she stepped towards his mother, her hands outstretched…and Margaret, looking back at Sybil, didn't hesitate. The two were quickly embracing. Embracing and crying.

"You're such a good girl…" Margaret managed to get out between sobs. "I may not have always thought so, but you've proven me wrong, which is no easy feat," she teased, winning a giggle from Sybil, despite the tears that flowed down her face.

They leaned away, and Margaret fussed as she took her handkerchief and brought it up to clean Sybil's face.

"You'll be good for Tommy," she murmured as she wiped away Sybil's tears.

Sybil blushed, but smiled, touched by the woman's confidence. "I hope so," she whispered.

Margaret took Sybil's shoulders and looked her square in the eye. "I know so," she firmly told her, before smiling back and winning a smile from her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. "And…and I'm so proud," she managed to murmur, releasing Sybil's shoulders and letting her hands slide down her arms until she was just holding Sybil's hands, her eyes taking in all of the beauty of her eldest son's bride. "And I'm also, deeply honored…that today, you will truly join our family."

Sybil pressed her lips together, knowing that she was in danger of crying anew. That time back in April, when she had first arrived and Mrs. Branson had been so cold and untrusting of her seemed like a lifetime ago. Back then, Sybil wasn't sure if it were possible for his mother, or any of his family, to come and accept her, let alone welcome her amongst them. But now? Now, it was impossible not to see herself as a Branson. "And I'm deeply honored to join you," she whispered, squeezing her mother-in-law's hands (because really, today, that was who she was).

Margaret smiled and returned the squeeze, before taking a deep breath and releasing Sybil's hands. "Alright, alright, enough tears," Margaret firmly ordered, wiping at her own cheeks now, one last time. "Let's get you downstairs so everyone can see the lovely bride…"

Sybil blushed but nodded, smiling as she started to follow her mother-in-law out the door…but pausing, just briefly, to have one last look at the tiny bedroom that had served as her home for this past month and a half. It was fitting that in this room, she had been dressed and prepared and ultimately transformed into the bride she now was. And now she was leaving it, for good.

Leaving the Branson household to finally, at long last, become a Branson herself.


He was trying not to pace, trying not to fidget, but it was damn impossible.

Despite what his brother and cousins had told him, that "no one else will even be there!" he had insisted on getting to the church early, just…as a way to truly let it all sink in that yes, yes—this was really happening.

Father Stephen was there, and looked surprised at seeing Tom appear. "A bit early, aren't you?" the priest and teased, before sobering up and asking Tom in a somewhat more serious voice, "do you need to confess?" And while Tom didn't really think it was necessary (he honestly didn't feel that the intimacy he and Sybil had shared earlier in the week was sinful), he had nothing else to do, so yes, he let Father Stephen hear his confession, recited the prayers for penance, and even went to the back of the sanctuary to light a candle in honor of Martin, and say a prayer on his behalf. That prayer soon turned into another, where Tom found himself asking for strength not to become a blubbering mess while speaking his vows, or for his hand to be steady so he wouldn't drop the ring while slipping it onto Sybil's finger, or tonight, when they were alone at last, not to frighten her with his passion, to be a thoughtful and caring lover…and then he found himself praying that he wouldn't disappoint her, and not just on their wedding night, but…ever! And that was how his brother found him when Frank arrived at the church before the others.

"Any calmer, now that you've managed to pray to the Holy Virgin and all the saints?" Frank teased.

Oh if only, Tom miserably thought. He was desperate for distraction, so he asked Frank to tell him what had happened after he left his sister's, which wasn't much; apparently their cousin Donal had collapsed after all the drinking he had been doing, both last night and this morning. Tom didn't envy the man for the headache he knew he would be having later (either from the alcohol or from his wife). The only piece of news that remotely distracted Tom, was knowing that Kathleen had gone over to their mother's to see Sybil and help with anything that needed to be done there. Unfortunately, that was all Frank could tell him, so once again, Tom found himself trying to keep his mind from flying in every direction as the hours ticked away far too slowly. Oh the irony, that after years and months and weeks of patience, it was today on his wedding day, with just a few hours, that he was finding the most difficult.

Poor Frank. His brother had to walk away for a little bit, no doubt getting annoyed by Tom's constant questions about "do you have the ring? Show me—let me see the ring", even though Frank had already showed him…four times. The sixth time had been the last straw, and Frank muttered that he was going to go for a walk. Tom wondered why he hadn't thought that? But the idea of leaving the church, especially now, seemed far too terrifying. What if he got something on his suit? After years of working with cars, you learned not to care so much if you get a bit of dirt or mud on yourself (much easier to wash out than motor oil), but this was a new suit, a gift from his uncles. They had given it to him for his birthday, with the sole intention that he would wear it for his wedding. He had never taken such care of a piece of clothing as he had done with this suit, keeping it hidden in the back of the little wardrobe at his sisters, only bringing it out to air the previous night. Also, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to see her until she was walking down the aisle, Tom didn't want to miss the moment she arrived—or any of his family. What if that happened? What if one of his sisters, or his mother came to the church in search of him, to tell him something was wrong? God in heaven, he was going mad.

Frank did eventually come back, and by that point a few guests were starting to come in, but not many. Tom chose to remain hidden off to the side, out of view from those who were coming in. As soon as Frank found him, the first words his brother uttered were, "I have the ring," before digging into his jacket pocket and producing the very item Tom had been pestering him about for the last several hours.

Tom couldn't help but let out a shaky, and somewhat nervous sounding laugh, though it did feel good to let some of the tension out, and the laugh did provide that. "Thank you," he murmured, lifting his eyes to his brother's.

Frank shrugged, but Tom shook his head, wanting his brother to understand what he was saying. "I don't just mean for holding onto the ring, but…'thank you'…for…for what you did all those weeks ago, in helping protect Siobhan and Sybil, and your help with the rooftops, when the soldiers and police had the streets barricaded—"

Frank snorted. "Didn't do you much good, since it didn't get published."

Tom couldn't help but smile at the indignant way his brother spoke. "Aye, but it did get me noticed, which will hopefully lead to something getting published in the very near future, and I owe you entirely for that."

Again, Frank shrugged, though Tom saw the corner of his mouth lift, just slightly.

"But also, 'thank you' for…for doing what you could for our family when I wasn't here…" He looked at Frank out of the corner of his eye, and noticed his brother stiffen. Tom knew that his brother had been struggling during all those years while he had been working at Downton. Struggling with the law, struggling with their mother, struggling with keeping work down, struggling with…all sorts of things, including not having his older brother there to help. And while they had never spoken the words, Tom knew that a part of Frank, perhaps still, resented him for staying at Downton all that time because he was waiting for Sybil. This was not going to be something that could easily be patched up by making Frank his best man, or by giving a little speech now in thanking him. But it was a start.

"I'm just glad you're back," Frank mumbled, turning away from Tom so Tom couldn't see his face.

A sad smile spread across his lips then, but he did feel his heart lift, just a bit. "Me too," he whispered.

There was a pause…and then Frank surprised him, by saying, "I know that if Martin were here, he'd be doing what I'm doing…but…" he finally turned and looked back at him, and Tom saw his brother's eyes shine with unshed tears. "But thank you…for asking me."

Tom swallowed the emotional lump that was lodged in his throat, and returned Frank's smile, but surprised him when he said, "I would have asked you, even if Martin were still here."

Frank frowned. "Really?"

Tom couldn't help but laugh at that. "Of course!" He reached out then and grasped Frank's forearm in his hand. "You're my brother…"

Frank stared back at him and blinked for several seconds, and Tom wondered if that was due to the fact that he was truly shocked by the revelation…or if it was a trick he had learned to keep himself from crying. Either way, Frank seemed to "awake" from his stupor and mimic Tom by grasping his forearm and squeezing it back.

They didn't say anything more. Nothing more really needed to be said.

The crowd continued to gather, with more people coming in. There were quite a few unfamiliar faces, and Tom wondered if they were simply coming to see the so-called "spectacle" of the Earl of Grantham's youngest daughter, marrying a working class Irishman who just so happened to have once been the family chauffeur. But soon the faces he did know began to outnumber the ones he didn't, and it was at this time that his heart really started to race. Won't be long now…

Frank's earlier annoyance had turned to amusement. "Want me to go outside and keep an eye open? Let you know when she gets here?"

Yes! No—YES! "No, no that won't be—well, maybe, I don't know," he groaned, his hand rising to adjust his tie; had he done it up too tightly? Or was that his imagination?

Frank looked at him with a furrowed brow. "Jesus, Tom, your sweating!"

Fantastic, that was just what he needed.

"Cold feet?"

Tom's eyes widened. "What!? NO!" he vehemently shook his head, which only caused his brother to throw his head back and laugh.

"Well Sybil will glad to hear that!" Frank chuckled, before adding, "And if you're worried about whether or not she's coming, I don't think you need to; I've seen the way she looks at you, and it's obvious that she loves you."

Tom honestly didn't have any doubts about whether Sybil would be coming or not, but he did look at Frank with thankfulness for his words, his heart swelling at the knowledge that his and Sybil's love for each other was plain for everyone to see.

"There you are!" hissed a voice off to their right. Both Tom and Frank turned their heads as Kathleen appeared, looking a bit agitated (how long had she been looking for them? Oh God, if she was here, did that mean—?) "Oh, Tommy, your tie!" Kathleen groaned, stepping forward and fussing over him as if he were a little boy, but he honestly didn't mind, because he had a feeling he needed the fussing right now.

"Sybil…?"

Kathleen shook her head. "She's on her way, but not here yet," she explained. "Sean and I just finished taking the last of her things over to the flat. Everything looks fine and perfect," she assured him, straightening his tie, his collar, brushing her hands down his shoulders. "You look very handsome," she murmured, looking up into his eyes and smiling, and just like Frank's, hers also glistening.

"Not the first time you and I have been standing like this before a wedding in this church," he chuckled, trying again to swallow that emotional lump.

Kathleen giggled, and smiled up at him, before winking and adding, "Would you like me to walk you down the aisle Tommy?"

It had been said in jest…but her words struck him then.

"Right, well, I just wanted to wish you luck—both of you," she leaned up and kissed his cheek, before turning to Frank and doing the same. She turned to leave then, but not without pausing and looking back and adding with a grin, "She's very beautiful."

Oh he could only imagine…

"Better take our places," Frank advised, after their sister had gone.

Tom nodded his head, and started to follow his brother…but stopped after taking a few steps. Frank looked back, a confused frown on his face. "Tom?"

Tom met his brother's eyes, and then murmured, "There's something I need to do."


She was all by herself, standing in the narthex just outside the sanctuary doors. She had shared her tearful words of love and affection with her sisters, Tom's sisters, Mrs. Branson, and last but not least, Anna, who had fixed her veil, helped to straighten the little crown of flowers Siobhan and Aileen had made for her, that perfectly matched the bouquet Moira had gathered, and now here she stood…standing and waiting for the music to begin playing…and for the doors to open…before making her journey down the aisle towards her future husband, who…very soon, God willing…would actually be her husband.

Sybil closed her eyes and murmured several quick prayers, her hands clutching her bouquet as if it were a rosary. Whenever she had imagined her wedding day, she had never imagined this particular moment, this final moment of waiting, which may very well be the most intense and excruciating moment of them all. Just a little longer…just a little longer…

Her eyes flew open as the first chords of organ music began to fill her ears and the sanctuary just beyond the doors which she stood. She held her breath, holding her bouquet tightly…as the two heavy, oak doors were pulled open…and the sanctuary was revealed before her very eyes.

There were far more people here than she had expected to see. While she knew that the Branson family, with all their extensions, was quite large, this seemed even bigger! People had risen to their feet, were turning their heads and leaning out of the pews, trying to catch a glimpse of the bride as she took a few steps into the crowded sanctuary.

Suddenly…this all seemed to be very overwhelming, and Sybil was starting to understand why a bride had someone walk her down the aisle, because right now she did wish there was someone whose arm she could lean against, just for the certainty of knowing she wouldn't trip over her own two feet.

But her father wasn't here, and she had made the decision to walk down the aisle by herself, to complete this journey as she had always done, on her own by her own accord. You can do this, you can do this…just…look at his face, and the rest will come easily.

And she did look; she looked down the nave towards the altar and saw her sisters, along with Tom's mother and the rest of his siblings looking back at her, smiling, and perhaps even looking a bit anxious since she was still standing there…and then her eyes saw Father Stephen, who was waiting in front of the altar to receive her and Tom…and then she saw Frank, who had just turned his head and whose eyes widened at the sight of her, before a smile began to spread across his own handsome face…

But the one face she wanted to see over any other…wasn't there.

A sudden squeeze of panic gripped her heart.

Her breathing stopped, and her right hand fell away from the bouquet she was holding, as if ready to reach out to grab a hold of a nearby pew.

But there was no need.

…Because a hand she knew so well, gently slipped into hers, and curled around her fingers.

A long, shaky breath was released…as she turned her head and lifted her eyes…to meet those of her fiancé.

He was here.

He was standing right next to her.

He was smiling and tenderly squeezing her hand.

"Kathleen wasn't wrong," he whispered. "You are so beautiful…"

Sybil swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes swimming as she gazed up at him. "What…what are you doing…?"

He smiled again, his face bashful as he glanced out at the sanctuary. "I just…I thought, we've been on this journey together for so long…it only makes sense that we take those next steps together…as we become husband and wife."

Her heart leapt at his words, and a watery smile spread across her face, and she nodded her head, because she honestly didn't trust her voice.

Tom grinned, and then lifted their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of hers. "Ready?" he whispered.

They had kept the world waiting long enough, not to mention each other. "Yes," she managed to whisper, bringing their hands to her lips now, and kissing the back of his.

"Together," he murmured, and with their hands still clasped…they took their first steps towards the altar.

Their last steps as two…and their final steps towards one.

Together.


The truth was, that even though it was a day that Tom Branson remembered for the rest of his life…a day that when his grandchildren and great-children asked him, "do you remember when you married Nan?" and he would be able to answer in great detail everything that happened that day, how everything looked and everything that was said…right now, at the exact moment he was living it…he couldn't remember any of that. His mother was crying somewhere off to the side, along with his sisters and Sybil's, and his brother was standing somewhere to his left, and Father Stephen was standing just less than five feet from where he stood, speaking a very clear voice, and yet all Tom could see and hear and acknowledge…was her.

He had come to his decision to join Sybil down the aisle, after Kathleen had teased him about "walking him down". The idea just made sense. It wasn't something that he had ever seen or heard anyone ever do before, but since when did something like "tradition" stop him? Or her? Or either of them? In the eyes of English Society, perhaps in the eyes of Irish working class society too, the two of them weren't supposed to be together. Ladies like her—daughters of aristocrats—just didn't marry men like him, who came from working class backgrounds and who had at one point worked for their father. And men like him—a self-proclaimed socialist, and an Irishman at that—just didn't fall in love and desire to marry a woman who, in the eyes of his world, represented all the things his political and cultural persona viewed as "the enemy".

And yet here they were.

It just felt so…natural…when he chose to join her. So right. As he had said, they had been on this journey for a long time, why stop now? Why not take those final steps together? So with his new determination, he told Frank his plan, and before his brother could properly respond, abandoned him for the church narthex, waiting in a corner of the vestibule, waiting for her to come…and then he heard his sisters outside, squealing and giggling and gasping over and over, "you look so beautiful!", before his mother told them to shush and take their seats. He watched as his younger sisters entered the church, all of them looking very pretty, heightened by the lovely smiles which they wore. He next saw his mother and Sybil's sisters, crowding around the doorway, just blocking his view of his bride…

Then he heard her voice, full of happy emotion, and he saw the top of her head, covered in a crown of flowers and a lacy veil, move to both Lady Mary and Edith, kissing their cheeks, telling them she loved them dearly, before the two Crawley sisters, with handkerchiefs already dabbing at their eyes and noses, bid her "good luck!" and disappeared to take their own seats. Now it was just his mother and Anna left, and after a very brief word, his mother kissed Sybil's cheek, and then stepped out of the way, providing him at last, his first full glimpse of her…

Beautiful was not an adequate word.

Neither was breathtaking, even though that was what she was.

He couldn't stop staring. He couldn't move or speak! But oh how his heart raced…how it swelled and increased as he gazed at her.

His bride.

Anna finished doing whatever last minute checks that needed to be accomplished, and then Sybil grasped her hand, squeezed it, gave Anna a kiss on the cheek, and finally was left all by herself…lowering her head and squeezing her eyes shut, holding her bouquet as she seemed to lose herself in prayer. Then the music began, and the doors opened…and she stood there, staring out at the congregation that was no doubt just as transfixed by her beauty as he was.

And then he moved.

The walk down the aisle wasn't anything like it had been when he had walked Kathleen down for her wedding. Then, he had stood straight and tall and looked every bit the proud brother that he was feeling. But it hadn't been his day. His heart hadn't been beating like this, his pulse racing, his legs wondering "how far is it to the altar?", while in his mind, he was floating above everyone.

But he wasn't walking alone. And as he felt Sybil's fingers, felt her grip, felt her strength, he was so thankful he had chosen to join her, because he honestly couldn't imagine what it would have been like to make this walk by oneself. For that matter, he couldn't imagine the excruciating torture of standing there, waiting for her to join him. No doubt he would have met her half way; despite what Sybil thought, his patience was only so good.

Father Stephen addressed the congregation, led everyone through prayer, then charged them both, and he glanced out of the corner of his eye and gazed at her beautiful profile as she looked up at Father Stephen, even nodding her head as she listened to him speak.

His bride.

He couldn't look away from her; he didn't want to. How many times had he dreamt of this moment? How many years had he imagined this day? Her, standing there by his side, adorned in white, a veil covering her face and hair…

"Tom?"

Oh God! He was being addressed. Father Stephen was addressing him!

"Aye?" he murmured, a bit louder than he had meant, which earned a chuckle from the first few pews who had heard him.

Sybil was silently giggling herself, and she squeezed his hands, as the priest, looking at him rather pointedly.

"Tom, will you take Sybil to be your wife, to live together in the covenant of holy marriage? To love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live? If so, please say…you will."

He didn't even hesitate. "I will."

Tears were running down her cheeks, and Tom wished nothing more than to lean forward and kiss them away. But now Sybil was being asked the same question, asked if she would take him to be her husband, to live with him, to love and comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others for as long as she lived…

And he held his breath as she looked at him and answered, also without hesitation. "I will."

It reminded him of how she had said "I am," to her father, when he had asked her if she was sure this was the decision she wanted.

"Tom?" Father Stephen cleared his throat, and this time Tom was ready.

"Repeat after me: I, Tom Declan Branson…" Father Stephen began.

"I, Tom Declan Branson…" he repeated, his heartbeat increasing rapidly.

"Take you, Sybil Patricia Crawley, to be my wife…"

Tom looked at her, his vision becoming blurred as tears filled his eyes. And yet despite that blur, he could still see her beautiful, smiling face so clearly.

"Take you, Sybil Patricia Crawley, to be my wife," he repeated, though his voice was shakier than the priest's.

"To have and to hold from this day forward—"

"To have and to hold from this day forward…"

"For better, for worse—"

"For better, for worse…"

"For richer, for poorer—"

He winced a little; more likely the latter. "For richer, for poorer…"

"In sickness and in health—"

"In sickness and in health…"

"To love, honor, and cherish, till death do us part—"

Tom's eyes never left hers, not blinking once. "To love, honor, and cherish, till death do us part…"

Sounds of weeping and noses blowing were heard everywhere.

Father Stephen cleared his throat, as if trying to regain some sense of "order" to the emotional ceremony. "Sybil?" he addressed, and she glanced up at the priest, to acknowledge that she was listening, though her eyes quickly returned to him.

His bride.

"Repeat after me: I, Sybil Patricia Crawley…"

She swallowed and smiled, despite the tears and how watery her voice sounded. "I, Sybil Patricia Crawley…"

"Take you, Tom Declan Branson, to be my husband…"

She squeezed his hands, a lovely grin spreading across her lovely lips. "Take you, Tom Declan Branson, to be my husband…"

His heart lifted and soared as she murmured the same vows to him that only a few minutes ago he had been promising her. When she reached "For richer, for poorer…", he felt her squeeze his hands in such a way that told him she had seen him wince, that she was aware to his reason why…and that it didn't matter. Because she loved him, and she would gladly face those challenges with him.

"…To love, honor, obey, and cherish, till death do us part—"

Her eyes, her beautiful blue-gray eyes that had held him captive for so long, bore into his, as she repeated, "To love, honor, and cherish, till death do us part…"

It wasn't missed by Father Stephen that Sybil had left out a word. Nor was it missed on Tom. But he grinned broadly back at her, his chest swelling with pride at her little "rebellion", even in front of all these people. Ever his suffragette.

Sybil turned her head innocently towards the priest, giving him a little nod that he may continue, and Father Stephen bit the inside of his cheek, before clearing his throat once again and carrying on. Sybil caught Tom's eye then and winked at him, and it took everything he had not to burst out laughing. God, how he loved her.

"Frank?" Father Stephen addressed, and Tom's brother came forward, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the ring Tom had asked him so many times if he still had. And even then, in that brief moment, there was touch of panic…that quickly disappeared as the ring was placed in the center of Father Stephen's prayer book.

The priest led a prayer and a blessing over the ring, and then charged Tom to take it, and for Sybil to give him her hand. "Tom, repeat after me…Sybil, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity—"

"Sybil," Tom murmured, his hand tenderly squeezing hers as he reverently held it. "Take this ring…as a sign of my love and fidelity…"

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—"

Tom swallowed and recited the name of the Trinity…as he slipped the ring down her finger.

A perfect fit. Like it had been made for her. Like she had been made for him, and he for her.

Father Stephen took their hands then, Tom's holding Sybil's, and gave another blessing over their joined hands, before leading the congregation in a final prayer, a sea of hands rising then to make the sign of the cross, including the groom, and…no doubt, much to the shock and surprise of her sisters, the bride as well.

The priest looked at them then…and in a moment that to Tom was uncharacteristically "different", Father Stephen smiled…and even let out a little chuckle of his own, before quickly swallowing it and clearing his throat once more, but the grin was still visible in his eyes, if you looked hard enough. With a raised voice so that everyone in the sanctuary could hear, perhaps even beyond, to anyone on the city streets that happened be walking past the church, Father Stephen declared that after the exchange of vows and the giving and receiving of the ring, they were indeed, before the eyes of God and man…husband and wife.

Husband and wife.

A mighty applause went up from around the church, but nowhere did it come louder from the pews where his mother and siblings sat.

Just like before, Tom noticed a little change from what was traditionally said, with "husband" being substituted for "man". He looked at the priest, his eyebrows raised. Father Stephen caught his eye, and with a glance at Sybil, he murmured only so Tom could hear, "consider that my wedding present to your Mrs. Branson."

Tom felt the laugh bubble up in his throat, and it would have burst out had the priest's words not struck him.

His Mrs. Branson.

Mrs. Branson.

Sybil was a Branson now. Sybil…was his wife.

And he was her husband. Husband and wife, just like Father Stephen had said.

It's happened. After years of waiting and wondering if she returned his affections, if she loved him enough to leave her life of Downton Abbey behind to marry him…and then after months, waiting for him to find a job, waiting before they could come out of the shadows and tell her family everything…and then after weeks, waiting for the banns to be read, waiting for the last arrangements to be made, waiting for this week, this day, this hour to come…

And just like that…it was over.

The waiting was finally over.

Tom Branson had taken Lady Sybil Crawley, youngest daughter to his former employer, the Earl of Grantham, as his wife. And she had taken him, the former chauffeur, now journalist (or very soon would be)…as her husband.

The journey which their love had taken, starting in a garage somewhere in Yorkshire, had brought them here…to an Irish Catholic church in Dublin…and now she wore his family's ring, and now her name was forever linked with his.

Lady Sybil Crawley had become Mrs. Sybil Branson…all because she loved him.

If that wasn't enough of a reason to kiss his bride, then the encouragement of everyone around them was. Sybil gasped and grinned as his arms enveloped her, only to release her long enough to lift the veil from her face, his fingers trembling but his heart racing and urging him to hurry. And as soon as her lips were free from the sheer lace that had hidden them, his own mouth moved quickly, covering hers, and kissing her as if his very life depended upon it.

And it did. Oh God, it did.


Please sign the Bransons' wedding guest book and let me know what you thought ;o) THANKS FOR READING! You can guess what happens next...